


The Mage's Son

by SomeoneToCarryYou



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Eskel is a good brother, Famine - Freeform, Gen, Happy Ending, Jaskier is a BAMF, Jaskier is a feral bard, Jaskier saves the day, Lambert is a Good Brother, M/M, Might be slightly oc, Monsters Exsist, No beta we die like stregobor should, Okay a lot of canon lore changed, Roach is the Best (The Witcher), Ruthless Cherry Picking, Slow Build, Some Graphic Violence, Some canon lore changed, Stregobor is a DICK, Vesemir is a Good Dad, Wolf Pack, canon typical death, fairytale retelling, magic exsists, magical universe, witchers love Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28523043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeoneToCarryYou/pseuds/SomeoneToCarryYou
Summary: Stregobor has become master of the Continent and allows no crops to grow for anyone but himself and has stolen away all the animals. Rumor is that in his quest for power he killed his son Geralt and daughter Renfri. He seems unstoppable, until he meethis match in a feral bard who falls in love with a man living in a glass prison and befriends an old witcher.A retelling based on the plot of the book The Wizard's Daughter by Conor Conover which I do not own in any way shape or form.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Rumors Spread

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I was re-reading The Wizard's Daughter by Conor Conover, a favorite from my childhood, and I had a sudden urge to write a witcher fic based upon it featuring Jaskier has our brave and naive hero, Geralt our damsel in distress, and a few plot twists unique to my telling of the story. The first chapter is mostly background building, but it is really important. I'm actually almost done, but it's 3 am so I'll publish the first two chapters tonight/today and finish up in the morning.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, stay safe!!!

Once the Continent was a place of magic and peace. The lands were rich and lush with food and animals as well, so nobody ever went hungry, and there was great prosperity from land to land. Then came the reign of terror brought about by a dark mage who selfishly sought power and allowed greed to poison himself and all he touched. 

The mage, who was called Stregobor, had at one time been highly respected as a talented wielder of chaos. He had travelled the length and breadth of the Continent, casting spells and charms to aid people and searching for more knowledge about the nature of chaos. He travelled alongside his two children, a son and a daughter. His son, Geralt, had been a rambunctious and sweet child who dreamed of becoming a knight and saving kingdoms from wickedness. His daughter, Renfri, had been her brother’s shadow, a spirit of wild joy. 

Then came the pivotal moment that would change the world. Another mage by the name of Fringilla had given to Stregobor a book containing the darkest of curses and blood magics. She knew he hungered for knowledge as much as she hungered for destruction. That was his greatest and most terrible sin: his unfathomable greed. This terrible gift allowed Stregobor to change the world.

By the time the next year came to pass, Stregobor’s wild little daughter was gone. Rumors were traded in whispered tones that he had read in his book that the best way to gain more power and control over chaos was the blood sacrifice of a young child naturally attuned to magic. The spoke of a stone altar in the woods, with manacles on the sides and old runes written in blood. Of a small disturbed bit of earth beside it, just big enough for a child. 

Geralt was changed as well, his curly brown hair had gone pin straight and a silver-white color. Darkened eyes had gone cold and gold, with pupils slitted like a cat. He was paler, and silent as a stone. By the next year, he too had disappeared and Stregobor had grown more powerful than ever before. 

He sapped the life from the land, causing the crops to die, and all the animals disappeared. Kings of all the nations paid the mage bushels of gold to gain his favor, and to beg him to allow even an acre of food to grow. The people starved and died and misery filled the air just as weakened thin bodies filled the cemeteries. The mage’s wicked power was relentless, and none could stand in his path. There was no hope to be found, until the day that Stregobor at last met his match. His opponent came in the form of a once noble bard, who had wandered very far from home. 

His name was Jaskier.


	2. I am Fucked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! As promised here is the second chapter with the rest to come tomorrow. I should mention this fic will have cursing. Also it takes us a bit for Jaskier and Geralt to meet, but when they do it's the start of something beautiful so please enjoy the journey there. 
> 
> Thank you guys!

Jaskier was the youngest son of the Viscount of Lettenhove, though nobility mattered little when everyone was equally starved. His parents told their sons to go out into the world and seek ways to feed themselves and make money, for if they stayed in Lettenhove they would surely all starve. Not even a single weed had bloomed in the farms and fields in more than fifteen years. So Jaskier slung a pack on his bag and took hold of his lute, setting off to make a name for himself as a famous bard.

Jaskier had always carried a love of music in his heart, and had studied briefly at Oxenfurt before it had been abandoned as people cared little for music when they could hear nothing over the rumbling of their empty stomachs. In another life, a noble son would have never had this opportunity to travel and play, so he tried to see the bright side in this. 

He played in taverns and inns that would have him, though pay was scarce and food was limited. He was delighted to have been pelted with stale buns at one inn for an unfortunately received tune that probably should not have mentioned abortion. But such is life. And hey! Free food! 

He’d taken up temporary residence in one such inn when he was approached by a suspicious fellow in a dark cloak with the hood drawn over their face. An ordinary and perhaps more intelligent person might have avoided said cloaked stranger, but Jaskier needed new material for a good ballad, and spooky stranger here undoubtedly could provide some. Even if he did have to embellish a touch here and there. Artistic license and all. 

“A handsome and or lovely person such as yourself looks like they might have a few tales to tell to an eager ear,” Jaskier schmoozed, settling across the rickety table from the stranger. They’d tucked themselves into a darkened corner under the staircase to maximize the creepy factor, and Jaskier could admire the dramatic nature of it all. 

“Is that all you are looking for? Stories?” a male voice rasped from under the hood. They tilted their head consideringly. “Are you not hungry and looking for coin?” he inquired. Jaskier shrugged, fingers playing with a loose sky blue thread coming off of his doublet. 

“Of course, who isn’t? But really I want stories to make into songs so my true talents will be able to shine through. A lack of life experience has hampered my songwriting process,” Jaskier explained. The stranger chuckled and tapped a gloved hand on the table.

“I’ll make you a deal then, bard. I came here looking for a helping hand to handle some tasks at my home, and you are the only fool dumb or brave enough to approuch me. You will work for me for three years. The first year you will earn one bushel of gold, the second year you will earn two bushels of gold, and the third year you will earn three bushels of gold. While you work for me, I will also ensure you are fed. Have we an arrangement?” the gloved lifted from the table and was held midair, paused to shake. 

Jaskier’s eyes shone with delight. Now here was some material! And food! With little hesitation, he shook the gloved hand and offered the odd fellow a grin. “Absolutely, sir. I’ll be able to write a whole song cycle about these next years, I have no doubt!”

His new employer hissed and cackled, which was mildly concerning, and stood as he made his way to the exit, Jaskier rushing to follow him. They walked away from town deeper and deeper into the woods until they stood at an old crumbling well. Ivy grew over the stones and in between the cracks, and it seemed to have not been in use for quite some time. 

“You...you live in a well?” Jaskier asked, leaning over to eye the darkened bottom nervously. Great, his new boss was a crackpot. Ah well, still might be something there. ‘There once was a man who lived in a well, he invited me in and I said ‘what the hell’...’ Jaskier thought to himself. His next thought was wordless panic as the maniac in the cloak shoved him over the edge and sent the bard screaming toward an impossibly distant bottom. 

He slowed midair though he could still feel cool damp air brushing at his skin and through his hair. He landed relatively gently on the soft bottom, noting there had only been the illusion of water that he had passed through on his way down.

His employer landed far more gracefully behind him in the sandy bottom, and immediately began walking away. Jaskier scrambled to his feet to follow, shaking sand from his lute and silken clothes as he did. They reached their destination, a door of stone carved into what seemed to be a wall of stone. Passing through behind the cloaked figure, Jaskier’s jaw dropped. 

The underground cavern was full of animals of every kind and size, all the ones that had disappeared and more. Crops and plants grew wildly in between them, and hanging upside down from the ceiling. ‘No wonder nothing grows up there,’ the bard thought to himself. ‘Everything grows down, using some kind of magic’.

He was led past the animals and food stuffs, around piles of gold and gems the size of his head, to a throne room of sorts. The throne seemed to be made of seashell and stone, and the man who had taken him here dramatically cast off his cloak and gloves. It was a man, or what had once been a man. Lizard scales covered his arms, ram’s horns grew out of his head, an he had feet like a goat. A circlet of gold, thick and detailed, cut through wavy grey hair that whitened at the temple. 

“You...you’re Stregobor, the mage…” Jaskier whispered, nearly tripping over the discarded cloak in his surprise. He’d heard the tales of Stregobor, who killed his children for power, cursed the land and all its animals, demanded taxes of kings, and whose dark magic had begun to change his very body. 

Stregobor threw back his head and laughed, even as he settled more comfortably into his throne. “Yes, and what shall I call you, oh servant of mine?” the mage questioned, as with a flick of his hand a goblet full of wine appeared. One for Jaskier, and one for the mage himself.

“I am called Jaskier,” the bard replied evenly and with a bow. He never thought he’d be grateful for those many years of lessons on courtly etiquette, and yet he praised every god that his muscles and dropped him into a low bow while his brain floundered to parse through all this new information. Stregobor, the great and terrible. Stregobor, his master for the next three years. 

‘Fuck,’ Jaskier thought to himself quietly. ‘I am fucked.’


	3. The First Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier discovers what he signed up for might be more than he can handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is discovering what Stregobor has in mind for those three years of employment and the first spell is cast. 
> 
> We're moving along, and Vesemir will arrive in one of the upcoming chapters. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading! Stay safe!

Jaskier was treated to a three course meal, like he’d never seen before in his lifetime. He gorged himself on sizzling and well spiced steak, roasted rosemary potatoes, grilled asparagus with butter and salt, turkey goldened and moist, fish fresh from the sea, carrots and peas, corn and sprouts. This must be how gods ate!

‘Surely when you eat meat with wine, you’ve discovered how the deities dine…’ he sang to himself as he fought the urge to lick his plate clean. He figured Stregobor was unlikely to poison him since he’d agreed to be a servant for three years.

Stregobor seemed to find Jaskier’s hunger and enthusiasm amusing. “Allow me to explain your duties,” the mage practically purred, fingers steepled together under his chin. Jaskier nodded, drinking more wine to keep his mouth occupied so he didn’t say anything to offend the evil wizard. 

“You will feed the animals, water the crops, and then I will use a spell to turn you into an animal for the rest of the year. If you avoid being hunted and eaten, then I will summon you back to the well at the end of the year. You will be paid, you will repeat this all again. Questions?” 

‘Yes. About a hundred and six questions. All of which might end with me permanently turned into a snail,’ Jaskier muttered internally. He also had a feeling he’d be doing a great deal of internally conversing with himself in the future. At least if he wanted to maintain his not-a-snail status and really, he did. 

“Why are you turning me into animals? Are you testing me or something?” Jaskier went with instead. He figured it would have been suspicious to not ask anything at all, and really he did want to know why he was being paid to do this. 

“No, not to test you, Jaskier. Just for a little fun. All those starving idiots chasing you down, desperate for some small morsel only for you to escape each time. You won’t be just an ordinary animal after all, you’ll be faster, smarter, stronger. It’s just a fun little thing that caught my fancy as I was counting my gold.”

Jaskier fought the urge to flinch in revulsion. Stregobor was just as sick as the stories said, maybe even worse. Instead he shed his doublet and set about feeding the animals. While surprisingly physically demanding, he had always wanted a pet and loved the idea of animals. He pet them, whispered songs and praises as he worked. 

Then came watering, tricky since most of the crops were in the ceiling. He was given a hose that seemed to magically be tied to the river that ran under their feed and had once fed the well above. Using the hose, he sprayed the plants gently as he could, singing as he went. The acoustics of the seemingly haunted evil cavern were quite sublime. 

He ran through all his old songs, and some new ones, when he was really tired he was reduced to humming unwritten scores. At the end of each day, he was shown to a small room carved into the stone with a narrow but comfortable bed. He was even given new clothes, and each day he ate food. Food every single day! It was a dream. 

After a week or so, he was led by Stregobor to the well and they floated up and out. This time they were in a different forest, closer to the open plains that sat in the continent’s center. Stegobor raised his hands, palms open and outward like he was going to grab Jaskier by the throat, and murmured an unfamiliar word. 

Warmth tingled through him, followed by fire, burning through each nerve ending as bones broke and cracked. He was reformed, and by the time he came back to himself, he was a rabbit at Stregobor’s feet. 

The mage scooped him up and laughed, wildly pleased at his ruse. “This spell has made you practically uncatchable. Not to mention each night right before you go to sleep, a bit of food will appear at your feet. I won’t be really monitoring you, I have secrets to unlock and knowledge to hoard after all. Busy mage. But at the end of the year, you’ll instinctively start running for this spot and I will come collect you. Be well, little bunny!” Stregobor chortled, flinging Jaskier up into the air and disappearing before he could hit the ground. 

‘Schmuck,’ was Jaskier’s last thought before an arrow lodged in the ground directly in front of him.


	4. Into A Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transformed once more, and injured Jaskier befriends an old witcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our next transformation is here!
> 
> I thought it would be fun to have the wells Stregobor uses spit Jaskier out in different parts of the Continent, since one of the things our sheltered bard was seeking was life experiences. What do you think?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, it is my first time trying a story like this with so many fairytale elements.

Bunny-Jaskier frantically hopped through the grasses, ducking and dodging more arrows and even stones that hunters were tossing his way. He seemed to have a second sense as far as nets and traps went, which served him well. 

Just as Stregobor had said, each night a small bit of lettuce and carrots would appear by his paws. He spent most of the day time racing away from starved men, women, and children. He felt bad, as he had known hunger like their for most of his life, but he still didn’t want to be eaten. He covered almost the entirety of the center of the continent in his travels. He saw the golden rising dawns, the scarlet setting suns, skies dotted with a canvas of shimmering stars, waterfalls pouring over massive stone cliffs,so much natural beauty. He found himself itching for his charcoal and song book more than once. 

He couldn’t sing as a bunny, but he tried to repeat lyrics as they came to him over and over until he could have his music making things beside him. And you know, thumbs and fingers. The continent really was so beautiful, it was such a shame so many plants and animals were hidden underground and not here where they belonged. 

He hated seeing all the hungry people as much as he loved hearing people speak languages he’d never heard before, or wearing clothes he’d never seen worn before. He heard stories about monsters (those hadn’t been taken by Stregobor) and the fanged Witchers tha hunted them. According to one old man, too blind to spot a brown bunny hiding behind a barrel, witchers had mutagens that allowed them to eat the monsters they hunted, which was why they were still strong and healthy while the rest of the world withered. 

Jaskier was terribly intrigued by these witchers. He had to avoid them though while he was a rabbit. Maybe regular humans couldn’t catch him, but he was no match for a witcher who could catch bruxa and wraiths. 

The winter was cold, and he instinctively found himself burrowing deep into the earth to keep warm. He preferred his burrow - less people couldn’t find him and hurt him there. Or so he’d thought, until a villager boy tossed a bomb into one of his burrow’s openings. Jaskier had survived, but he’d wear the scars for life. They criss-crossed his back and over his cheek from shrapnel in the bomb. 

He healed quickly, likely from Stregobor’s magic. He slowly noticed himself wandering back to the well, and finally he found the cloaked form of his master waiting beside it. Scaled hands scooped him up and looked over the healed scars. “Hmm, poor bunny. Looks like those little bastards got creative. Hunger will do that. Anyways, back to work, Jaskier.” 

They floated back down the well, and Stregobor murmured that same word again, turning Jaskier back into a young man in another burst of agonized reformation. He was given red silk clothes and treated to another feast. He told Stregobor of the things he had seen, and when it was demanded, Jaskier sang and played for him. Stregobor must have been feeling generous, he gave Jaskier a day or two to write notes and songs before setting him to work feeding the animals and watering the crops once more. 

This time, when Jaskier finished his tasks, Stregobor didn’t bother to take him up the well. He raised his hands, mumbling another odd word with several hard consonants, and Jaskier screamed as his arms snapped. His muscles tore themselves apart, blood vessels bursting, until his scream became a screech. Flapping his wings, he took to the air as a raven and soared out the well.


	5. Getting Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vesemir to the rescue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Vesemir! He becomes a bit plot point, and I wasn't sure if I should have Geralt be the first witcher Jaskier meets or not, but ultimately decided to have him meet Jaskier first. For reasons. Stay tuned! Geralt is coming soon!
> 
> Thank you!

Once more, he wasn’t in the forest he’d entered the well in. This one was thicker and darker, a mess of shadows. He was immediately left dodging arrows however, as desperate hunters stalked his flight through the sky. He flew with the winds, high enough that he felt like he could almost touch those diamond bright stars. 

More than once he hid high in the trees, or even memorably once in a crevice behind the waterfall he’d seen as a bunny. He could hear better in this form, and listened for news from people passing by. He heard more stories of these witchers. They had different schools that trained them, each taking the image of an animal as their symbol which they wore on their medallions. 

Cats were wild and agile. Griffins were powerful with chaos and acted like chivalrous knights. Vipers were cruel and would do anything for money. Bears were incredibly hardy and stronger and deeply antisocial. Manticores were alchemists and poisoners. Cranes were inventive and explosive. Wolves were loyal and excellent swordsmen. 

Jaskier wanted to meet a witcher, to hear their side of the stories, especially since the ones he did hear carried all the signs of heavy prejudice. But few would ever talk to a raven. In fact, surely they’d prefer to eat him. He did spot them once or twice in their distinctive black studded armor and carrying two swords on their backs, but he stayed high enough to escape if they decided to hunt him. 

Several decided to hunt him anyway. But it was not a witcher who knocked him from the sky one crisp winter morning. It was a small child with a slingshot and a stone. He screeched as he fell, collapsing into the snow. His head was pounding and could feel blood in his feathers. They’d broken his wing. He tried to drag himself to his feet, but the thump of steps was growing louder. 

It was a witcher who cradled bird-Jaskier in his hands. Grizzled and old, with a curling mustache and a bit balding, he sighed at the state of his prisoner. “You’re all skin and bones you are. And look what that little shit did to yer wing.” 

The witcher’s voice was gruff and growly, but there was a softness to it. He carried Jaskier to where he’d made camp. Jaskier would have fled if he could, but was paralyzed by his wing. He really, really hoped witchers didn’t like birds. 

“I ain’t gonna eat you,” the witcher said simply, tapping the silver snarling wolf medallion at his throat. “See this here? It can sense magic. You’ve got one hell of a curse on you, which means you’re likely human. Witchers don’t kill humans unless we absolutely have to.” Jaskier internally sighed out his relief. Instead the witcher bound and fixed bird-Jaskier’s arm.

“Don’t know what you did to piss off a mage, but I hope you get turned back human soon. I hate mages, especially that no-good louse Stregobor. Wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire. He took something precious from me and he knows I’ll hunt him down till I get back what he stole. If I can’t get it back from him I’ll kill him just on principle.” the old witcher grumbled. Jaskier tried to make his caw sound inquisitive, but the witcher didn’t seem to understand.

“My name is Vesemir, by the way,” he offered instead. “Can’t ask your name though. Guess I’ll call you something, since I’ll have to keep an eye on you till your wing is working again.” And that was good news! Jaskier did his best to sing. He chirped a few lines from Lady Greensleeves, startling Vesemir into a laugh. 

“Talented little birdie ain’t ya. I guess I’ll call you Stanza, if you’ll be singing music like that.” Jaskier nodded and chirped his approval. It was nothing at all like his name, but it was nice enough. Better than he expected really.

Vesemir raised an eyebrow when a handful of berries and seeds appeared before Jaskier’s feet that evening, but muttered ‘Fuckin’ mages,’ before shrugging. He was eating jerky that looked older than Jaskier’s grandmother out of a canvas bag. 

“We did a lot of food storage and prep, even before Stregobor sunk his claws into the ground and killed everything,” Vesemir explained. Jaskier shook his head and stamped on the ground, prompting Vesemir to eye Jaskier curiously. “You know Stregobor?” Jaskier nodded. “He the one that cast this spell yer under?” came the follow up question. Jaskier nodded again, pleased they had even a rudimentary system of communication working out.

“And you’re saying Stregobor ain’t killed all the crops and animals?” Vesemir continued, abandoning his jerky to stare at Jaskier across the fire. Jaskier nodded, flapping his food wing. He hopped down and pecked at the dirt. When this didn’t garner a response, Jaskier began digging into the dirt. When he had a little furrow he began to point at it with his wing, then point to his beak and the dirt furrow again. 

“...Underground?” Vesemir ventured, pointing toward the dirt. Jaskier let out a triumphant caw and nodded fervently. “He’d taken all the animals and crops underground?” Jaskier cawed again and rewarded Vesemir by chirping a few verses from Annie’s Lace. 

Vesemir was staring at the ground in awe, eyebrows lifted high on his head. “The bastard is keeping it all to himself in his greed, and extorting kings and lords. I can’t wait to get my sword into that smarmy heartless goatfucker,” the witcher growled. 

They passed the next few weeks that way, with Vesemir telling Jaskier about witchers and his own adventures. Jaskier was loathed to part from Vesemir, but the witcher had a job to take down south. “Normally I’d be in Kaer Morhen in the winter, but the pass closed with snow before I could make it up. So I’ll keep busy with what work I have. It isn’t safe for you around people though, Stanza. They won’t care that you’re human if they’d even believe me when I told them. But if you can make it, Kaer Morhen is a black stone keep in the Blue Mountains, and you can head there and be safe. Even if you break the spell, human Stanza will be welcomed as well as bird Stanza. I’ll send word to the others there. There ain’t as many witchers as there once were after the attacks on our schools, so word will travel fast.” 

Jaskier nodded, cooing sadly and brushing his beak through Vesemir’s short salt and pepper hair. The old witcher chuckled fondly, petting Jaskier’s head, and the two parted ways. Jaskier flew back to the forest and killed time until he felt the tug towards the well. He spotted it, and dove down, past the illusion of water, and landed on Stregobor’s scaly outstretched hand. 

A mumbled magic word later, and Jaskier was examining new scars from the broken wing in his right arm. He bathed and dressed, performing for Stregobor and eating once more like a king. He kept his time with Vesemir a secret, though he did want to help the witcher reclaim whatever he’d lost to the mage. 

“You sure have a lot of treasure here,” Jaskier began, eyeing Stregobor over the rim of his soup bowl. He knew by now the mage loved to brag. And brag he did. “Oh yes. I have dozens of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, opals, any jewel that a man could name. Not to mention mountains of gold, my precious magical and cursed texts, sculptures, pottery, silks. I am the wealthiest, most knowledgeable man on the continent,” Stregobor oozed smugly. 

“Maybe you could explain something to me then, something I heard as a bird. What is a witcher?” Jaskier asked innocently, before digging into the honey smoked ham. Stregobor did not suspect a thing, running through a clinical lecture on the trials and mutagens that made a witcher, as well as their many skills and rules. 

“Did you read all of that? Have you actually talked to one of those monsters?” Jaskier asked, faking a disgusted shudder. He could tell just from Stregobor’s tone and word choice he saw witchers as monsters, and was happy to play along to get more information. ‘Thank you again, pointless court etiquette lessons’ the bard mused to himself privately.

“I’ve met a few. The worst of them all is that fool Vesemir. He leads the Wolf School. Most of the vile witchers still left alive after the pogroms look to him as a leader, kind of a king of the witchers. He might be the oldest witcher alive truth be told. A greying waste of a thing. I could easily destroy him,” Stregobor insisted, but Jaskier was a nobleman’s son, and noblemen’s sons are trained to detect fear in a tremble of the voice or flash in the eyes. 

He’d been taught that to secure better trade agreements, to sense when someone was skimming from the top, or when the grain bags were being weighed with lead and sold overpriced, but Jaskier used it now to see that even the great and terrible Stregobor was afraid of Vesmir and his witchers.

‘Good,’ Jaskier thought viciously, even as he kept his face straight. Once this last year of service was up, Jaskier would go to the Blue Mountains and tell Vesemir everything, do all he could to help the old wolf get his vengeance. He took extra care with the animals, watered the crops the best he could, and played the entertaining fool for Stregobor. 

When the time came, Jaskier was led to a different door that opened out onto a sandy shore by the sea. He listened intently to the magic word that allowed chaos to twist his body. “w chronioną rybę” Stregobor hissed, before tossing fish-Jaskier into the crashing waves.


	6. Pity the Naked Fish-Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is here! And Roach is not impressed by their new house guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is here! I made Roach a sea horse and have him fish scale accessories, since in the book the wizard's daughter has his scaled sleeves whule she's underwater, and her dog has become somewhat aquatic looking. I am a bit worried Geralt came out OC and he probably does. But we do what we can.
> 
> Thank you!!

Jaskier was fish, and this was without a doubt his least favorite form Stregobor had forced him to take. He dodged fishermen’s speakers, nets, and hooks. Several times they came close to catching on him. He found kelp growing when the moon rose that disappeared with the rising sun.

The sea was truly beautiful, Jaskier had to admit. He’d never been able to go to the coast before, and sometimes he’d just lay against the silken sand and watch the curling motions of the waves. It was going well enough until a very lucky fisherman hooked his mouth and dragged him up into the air. Jaskier effectively bitchslapped the unlucky fisherman with his tail and escaped back below, hook still stuck in his mouth.

Panic made his heart beat fast as he dove deeper and deeper into the sea, where fishermen and their horrid hooks wouldn’t be able to touch him again. He’d cry if he could, and wished desperately for Vesemir’s presence at his side. 

Jasker found himself on the ocean floor, swimming in the emptiness and trying to get oxygen back into his veins and to slow his heart rate. If his jaw could drop, it would at the sight that he was suddenly greeted with. 

An enormous glass palace was sprawled across the ocean floor, lit by lanterns inside. Jaskier swam in circles around the glass palace, looking for an entrance or any sign of the person that lived there. Swimming past a window, he finally got a glimpse of the person inside. And he was beautiful. 

Long silver-white hair hung over the man’s shoulders and striking gold eyes peered with boredom at the expanse of sea outside the window. The young man was pale with the most impressive muscles Jaskier had ever seen. He wore greenish fish scales as bracers on his forearms and running up his shins, and white near translucent silks otherwise as a tunic. 

He noticed Jaskier then, this Adonis of a man, and he frowned, sitting up and walking along the glass. Jaskier followed him, and the man pointed downward. Jaskier finally noticed that to get in he needed to dive down and come up into an air pocket of sorts. 

The man was waiting, an enormous sea horse of some sort hovering behind his shoulder, when Jaskier surfaced. Gingerly, he pulled fish-Jaskier close and maneuvered the hook out of his mouth. Now free, Jaskier spoke Stregobor’s words: “w chronioną rybę’.

Now human, and naked, Jaskier floundered in the water, inhaling a fair amount of salt water before gasping and tugging himself onto the step that his rescuer had been kneeling on. He gave the man a happy grin, and the poor fellow tripped and fell on his ass in shock. Jaskier stood, preparing to explain this odd situation, when the huge seahorse protectively swam in front of the man and using his snout, knocked Jaskier right back into the water.

Jaskier, who couldn’t swim as he was from a landlocked county, immediately began to drown. A large hand grabbed his upper arm and tugged him up and back into the air pocket, where he gasped in a desperate breath. 

“Bad Roach,” the man admonished the sea horse, who huffed in annoyance. “Thank you, thank you,” Jaskier said in between his renewed appreciation for air. “I can’t swim, thank you.” His hero arched an eyebrow in an odd familiar gesture. “The fish can’t swim?” the man inquired dryly, folding his arms. 

“I am not a fish!” Jaskier sputtered, outraged. “I am a man!...Most of the time! Most of the time I am a man, a man from a landlocked county! A poor, drowned fish man!” the bard pronounced, pausing his tirade when his rude rescuer began to laugh, He laughed so hard he nearly fell over, and hand to lean on his demon seahorse for stability. 

“Well fish-man. I am Geralt, son of the mage Stregobor,” the Adonis introduced with a bow. Jaskier stared at him in shock. “You..his son...you’re alive!” Jaskier shouted in shock. “But the stories I heard as a bunny and a bird, they said he killed his children!” Jaskier continued. 

“Bunny...bird?” Geralt asked, head tilting quite adorably. 

“Your father, the evil mage, he hired me to tend to the animals and crops he stole and to turn into animals to mock the poor starving people. Well the people he joyfully makes starve. Of course I didn’t know any of that when he offered the job, I didn’t even know he was Stregobor! I was just a starving artist looking for material for my songs! Gods it has been a whirlwind of three years. He promised I’d get six bushels of gold and food.”

Geralt’s face shuttered, and he sighed, face pinched in anger. “You aren’t wrong,”he rasped at last. “He did kill his children. His little daughter died bloody on a stone altar, and he forced witcher mutagens on his son till everything human about him died. Come on, I’ll get you some clothes and some food to eat.”

“HOLY SHIT I’M NAKED IN FRONT OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN ALIVE!” Jaskier screamed in horror, hands immediately going to cover his junk, which both man and sea horse had gotten more than an eye-full of. 

Geralt laughed.


	7. Falling in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier spend their year slowly falling in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is partly where I worry Geralt is OC, but I did my best. His circumstances are different so I figured it makes sense he's a little different. 
> 
> Thank you lovely readers!

Jaskier, swamped in more nearly translucent silks, sat across a small golden table from Geralt as they ate- you guessed it, fish. Jaskier was working very hard to actively avoid thinking about it too much. 

“So,” Jaskier said, setting down his gold fork, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and eyed Geralt. “How long have you been underwater?”. The question got him another lifted brow and a shrug. “A long, long time. I don’t know exactly, but years. After he tried to make me as strong as a witcher to be his enforcer, and I ended up too strong and a freak, he said to protect me from monster hunters I had to come and live here. I’m meant to live here till I die, a banished monster.”

And here, Jaskier got angry. 

“You are NOT a monster! You are a person, a person with the world’s shittest dad! He tortured you, he knew exactly what he was doing and how much it would hurt you and he did it anyway! You are not the least bit monstrous!” Geralt opened his mouth to argue and Jaskier slapped a hand over his perfect mouth. 

“I will take no arguments on this matter, sir!” the bard insisted rather shrilly. “Stregobor is a monster. He tortured his son, sacrificed his daughter, and deprives everyone of food just for shits and giggles! He spends all day counting his gold and cackling over the fact he has all the crops and animals trapped in his creepy little creeper cavern! He is a monster! You...you are a witcher! Like Vesemir! You are a hero in the making!”

Jaskier panted, more than a bit wild eyed. Geralt looked close to tears, so Jaskier really didn’t expect it when the handsome witcher licked his palm. Jaskier drew back in shock, but was further stunned when dry slightly chapped lips pressed to his own. 

Geralt drew back, looking nervous, looking hesitant. “I’m sorry, but you made me feel...human, and good, and I’ve been so alone since Renfri died. I just-” whatever else Geralt intended to say was lost when Jaskier bodily threw himself across the table and half into Geralt’s lap to press a kiss to the witcher’s lips. 

Geralt’s golden eyes slid shut and he let his calloused hands drift up to cup the back of Jaskier’s neck and run through Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier returned the caresses, stroking fingers across Geralt’s cheek and brushing his lovely silvery-white hair behind his shoulder.

The kisses themselves were mostly chaste, but so very sweet and wonderful. “You are my first kiss,” Geralt admitted, speaking the words into Jaskier’s open mouth, who groaned and turned to press kisses along Geralt’s chiselled jaw and neck. “Yours are the best kisses I’ve ever had,” Jaskier kissed into that pale skin along Geralt’s throat.

They separated to breath, and Jaskier tangled their fingers together. “I have held so much hatred for Stregobor all my life, for the fact I and everyone I knew grew up starving. For the scars I have from my years as an animal. And now, for what he’s done to you and told you. But I find myself grateful because now I have met you.”

Geralt blushed a bit, turning to hide his head. “I had always blamed myself for this exile. I still do, in all honesty. I am monstrous, if not a monster. But for now, I want to hear about the world above, the one that made you. You say you know music. I know none. Will you sing for me, please?”

They retreated to the window seat Geralt had been sitting in when Jaskier first spotted him and Jaskier did what he did best - told stories. He sang and spoke and talked for what felt like hours. Geralt asked one or two questions, but largely just listened. His replies were largely physical - changes to his facial expression, fisting of his hands when he heard the details of his father’s cruelty. 

Geralt asked to see the scars from his time as a bunny and a bird, already able to see the one at the top of his lip from the hook. He ran those gentle fingers across the raised bumpy skin. Gentle lips followed this path next.

He took Jaskier to the training room he’d built, with swords and other weapons that Roach had brought him from shipwrecks. Geralt is self taught, but deeply skilled. Watching those training sessions usually ends in Jaskier tackling Geralt and kissing him. Geralt lets himself be knocked down, huffing a quiet laugh as his back meets the floor and Jaskier behinds to smother him in kisses.

They talk, even the usually taciturn Geralt grows slowly more willing, after some time, to start conversations. “We need to stop my father,” he whispers one night as they sleep side by side in an enormous hollowed out clam shell stuffed with soft pillows and blankets.

“He’ll summon me back a year after the day he tossed me into the ocean. I had planned to go to find Vesemir at Kaer Morhen and tell him everything I know. But I can’t leave you here. I won’t leave you here. I’ll stay with you,” Jaskier insisted. 

Geralt shook his head. “No, I don’t want you trapped here. And I don’t want to be trapped here either. What we need is a plan, especially since only Stregobor can lift the spell and bring me up to the surface.”

It had been months of singing and trading stories, of kissing and passionate nights in bed. And in the hall. And in the kitchen. And in the bath. Anyways. Geralt was still painfully socially awkward, still would get defensive or retreat into his head for days at a time, but he was getting better. And Jaskier, he was falling in love. 

He loved Geralt’s sword calloused hands, his brilliant eyes, the way he’d snort when he laughed. He loved watching Geralt with Roach, all the love he showed the sea horse who had been his only companion all these lonely years. 

He loved that Geralt would sometimes allow Jaskier to swing him into a slow rocking dance. He loved the little snore the other man had when he was sleeping. He loved that Geralt had a sarcastic comment for everything. He...well there’s no two ways about it. He really loved Geralt. 

“I have an idea,” Jaskier said as they got ready for bed that night. He was braiding Geralt’s white hair in delicate thin braids that were combed and braided into a larger one. Geralt merely gave a hum in reply, eyes closed and lost to the pleasure of Jaskier’s nimble fingers weaving in and out of his hair. 

“Stregobor is proud to a fault. He always thinks he is the smartest in the room and will do anything to prove it. It’s how I’ve been getting information out of him when I was human. I’ll take my money and bid him goodbye- then I’ll find Vesemir. Maybe we can ask another witcher to help us, or he can disguise himself as a king who wants to offer gold to Stregobor to have access to some crops near his castle. I’ll disguise myself too. Somehow I’ll get him to play a game, double or nothing. A questions game or something. Everyone up on the surface thinks you’re dead, so he’ll ask about you.”

Geralt’s eyes opened, and for a moment all he could see was Renfri’s face, wild curls around her as she grinned and tugged on his hand. ‘Geralt! Geralt! Come swimming with me! We can pretend to be mermaids!’’ she insisted eagerly. 

“Then you ask for proof, and he’ll have to bring me up, back to the surface,” Geralt agreed softly, taking Jaskier’s hand once the other man was done tying off the braid. Geralt traced the somewhat faded callouses from years of playing the lute, and the lines faintly criss-crossing his palms. ‘Destiny lines’ he’d heard them called. Fortune tellers would claim they could read your future in the lines on your palms. 

He wondered if Jaskier’s palms said he’d be forced to have his body broken and remade into different animals, or that he’d spend a year living under the ocean. He wondered if his own said he’d be made into a monster and banished by his father, or that he’d be loved and saved by a travelling bard. 

Probably not, but it was funny to imagine. Renfri would have loved this, that Geralt was the damsel in distress who was swept off his feet and fell in love with his noble rescuer. When Renfri made up games, she’d made herself the princess-knight and made Geralt be the innocent victim of evil magic she had to rescue. This all felt like one of her games. Maybe it was a sign she approved of the new direction his life would take once he was free from Stregobor.

Once the whole continent was free from Stregobor. 

He at least was grateful this king of the witchers, Vesemir, would likely want to be the one to kill his father. For all he hated the man, he didn’t know if he could kill his own father. A small part of him still loved him. 

For now, he banished his thoughts and rolled over, pinning the handsome bard to the bed and demanding a kiss. “We’ll plan more in the morning, I want to savour this time together,” Geralt purred, biting a possessive mark into the spot where Jaskier’s neck met his shoulder. 

“Ooh look at you using your words and being romantic,” Jaskier teased, relaxing into his lover’s hold. “I can be plenty romantic, with or without using words,” Geralt insisted, hands drifting lower on Jaskier, leaving the bard gasping. 

“Yes, yes you can witcher mine,” Jaskier moaned. Planning could definitely wait for the morning, the bard decided firmly, throwing himself into the moment with his lover.


	8. Seeking Witchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier sees out Kaer Morhen to begin his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's three years are up, and now it's time to find Vesemir. The problem is, there are a lot of mountains in the Blue Mountains, and he doesn't have a clue which one Kaer Morhen is on. Cue hypothermia.

There was more love making in the morning. A lot more. But eventually they did get to planning. Jaskier would take his money, find Vesemir and explain the plan. They’d contact the wizard with the offer of gold and once inside the cavern Jaskier would engage the prideful greedy mage in a game. 

Stregobor’s pride would not allow him to lose. He’d use Geralt to try to win, and when proof was demanded he’d summon Geralt (and Roach, Geralt wasn’t going anywhere without Roach). Together with Vesemir, they’d overpower Stregobor and with his death the crops and animals would return.

The world would prosper once more, Vesemir would have his revenge, and Jaskier was going to marry Geralt (like hell he wasn’t going to lock that down as soon as possible). Geralt had flushed and hidden a smile by kissing Jaskier when he’d shared the last part. 

“I have to make sure you’re mine before you realize that a god like you can have any number of people better than me,” Jaskier had explained, only half joking. Sharp gold eyes had glared at him, seeing through the teasing tone. He’d throughly ravished Jaskier, snarling that Jaskier was his, that no one was better than Jaskier and he would be ‘locking down’ Jaskier and claiming him as thoroughly as he pleased.

And wasn’t that a turn on.

The year was almost up, and Jaskier bid his love a sorrowful farewell. He was even going to miss Roach despite their rough start. Geralt had gifted Jaskier a single pearl on a gold chain, a favor to remember him by until they could carry out their plan to save the world. After a parting kiss, Jaskier had awkwardly tucked the pearl into his mouth so he could carry it with him when he spoke the magic words and became a fish. 

The feeling of all consuming wrongness that plagued him as he forced himself to swim away from Geralt and to Stregobor made his nerve endings burn and every single scale on his fish body itched. He followed the magic to the shore, and let Stregobor turn him back into a man. Stregobor led him back into the cavern and let him change into his clothes. Discreetly Jaskier popped the pearl necklace out from under his tongue and pocketed it, as well as his songwriting books, his lute, and the other odds and ends he’d had when he met the creepy stranger in the tavern.

He accepted the heavy bushels of gold, and asked if Stregobor would kindly drop him off near the Blue Mountains. “And why do you want to go there?” Stregobor drawled. Jaskier channeled his inner air head. 

“Oh they were so majestic and lovely when I flew over them as a bird!” Jaskier gushed, even going so far as to bat his eyes. “I want to build a beautiful home there and be serenaded by the sonorous sounds of the water falls and winter winds, to inspire my own creative works!” he rambled. 

Satisfied that Jaskier really was an idiot bard, Stregobor smirked and nodded, summoning a portal that Jaskier stumbled through with a “Cheerio, sir Mage!” before sighing in relief as the portal closed. The intimidating mountains rose in chilling peaks before him, and nothing but grass and chilly winds surrounded him. 

“Oi! Witchers! Wiiiiiitcherrrrrs!” Jaskier called, hands cupped around his mouth. “Vesemir?! Witchers!?” he called, using all the lung capacity built up from his days at Oxenfurt. He wasn’t sure it would actually work, but Vesemir hadn’t specified on which mountain in the Blue Mountains Kaer Morhen was. Jaskier had never climbed a mountain before but it seemed like an easy way to die.

“Witchers! Vesemir!” he continued, fingers toying with the pearl at his throat. He would climb each peak one by one if that’s what was needed to bring Geralt up and out of his prison. He wandered closer to the mountains’ bases, singing as he walked to try to keep the chill from his veins. 

He’d circled back to Lady Greensleeves for the third time when he began to snow. In between songs he called for Vesemir and any other witcher. Hunger took hold for the first time in three years as the days went by. He tried eating grass, but couldn’t keep it down, and grass was hard to find under the snow. He’d tried tree bark as well by the end of the week. 

The chill seeped into his thin bright silks, and he had curled up beside a boulder to sleep, wondering if Geralt was lonely. If was afraid Geralt would think Jaskier had decided to leave him there at the bottom of the sea.

Blue-tinged hands cupped the pearl, and he kissed it softly. “I’m trying Geralt, I swear. I’m just so cold...so tired...so hungry. I won’t stop till I find a way to save you. I swear on my life, on my lute.” 

His eyes slipped closed, and it feared it would be for the last time.


	9. Meet the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is saved from death from exposure and hypothermia. As an added bonus he meets Eskel and Lambert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's not dead! I love a happy ending, and it won't be very happy if Jaskier dies alone on a mountain. Nope he's a live and begining to put his plan into place.

Warmth. Burning warmth. Jaskier forced his eyes to open and realized he was out of the cold and in a small cot in a stone room lit only by a hearth that cast shadows across the walls. Someone had tucked blankets around him, and there was dried jerky beside his bed and a cup of hot water. 

“Now, who might you be?” came a low voice. Turning his head took a herculean effort, but he managed it, and a smile stole its way across his face at the sight of the familiar old witcher sitting beside his bed. “Vesemir, thank the gods,” Jaskier rasped, forcing himself to tug his arm free from the warmth of the blanket to reach out for Vesemir. 

Vesemir looked confused, but gently took Jaskier’s arm and tucked it back into the blankets. Unsure how to explain and more than a bit muddled, Jaskier gave up and began to sing a verse from Lady Greensleeves. “Stanza?” the old witcher asked in shock, standing from the stool and moving closer to Jaskier. 

“Yeah. Liked that name. Real name’s Jaskier. Didn’t know which was your mountain, was gonna try ‘em all,” Jaskier slurred as exhaustion crept up on him again. Vesemir sighed fondly, and forced Jaskier to eat the dried jerky and drink the warm water before he could drift back to sleep. 

“Gotta plan, Vesemir. To stop the mage...and save...Geralt…” he whispered as sleep took him. The last thing he saw were Vesemir’s panicked eyes and he thought he heard the old witcher whisper Geralt’s name in a heartbroken tone of voice. 

\---

When Jaskier woke a second time, there was hardtack beside his bed and another cup of water. Vesemir wasn’t beside his bed on the little stool anymore, but two new witchers were hovering there. One was broad as the mountain, with scars that lifted his upper lip and ran up the side of his head. The other was leaner, thinner, with a scar that ran from his eyebrow, over his eyelid, and down to his cheek. 

“So, hello random man that Vesemir is mother-henning. What’s your story?” the skinner witcher asked bluntly, flipping a knife around in his hand absently. Jaskier wasn’t sure if it was meant to look cool, threatening, or both. He settled on impressed. 

“I’m a bard who took a job without asking enough questions and ended up transformed into a bunny, a raven - which is how I met Vesemir and traveled with him, and most recently a fish. I fell in love with the son Stregobor turned into a witcher and trapped under the sea. Now I want to help Vesemir get his revenge, save Geralt, and destroy Stregobor and his magic once and for all.” Jaskier summarized, nibbling on the well-named hardtack. He was pretty sure it was older than anyone in this room, but it settled his stomach and so he gnawed away.

“Holy fucking shitballs!” the skinny one pronounced, at the same time the broad witcher said “Did you say Geralt!?” Both traded a heavy glance and seemed to scrutinize Jaskier carefully before nodding.

“I’m Lambert,” knife-trick offered, shaking Jaskier’s hand, with the broad one swooping in to shake it next “And I am Eskel. We’re wolf witchers who were trained by Vesemir.” Jaskier eyed the large silver medallions and nodded, instinctively touching the pearl from Geralt at his own throat. 

“Are you two harassing Jaskier after I deliberately told you not to?” Vesemir growled, cuffing both witchers in the back of the head as he came into the room. “Alright there, Jaskier?” the old witcher asked in a much softer voice. Jaskier offered his friend a smile, tapping at the pearl. “Yeah. I’ll survive, and better yet I know how to get you to Stregobor and save my love.” Vesemir smiled and pushed some dried fruits into Jaskier’s hands. 

“Oh really now, Master Stanza?” Vesemir teased. 

“Absolutely, but first, how good are you lot with disguises?” Jaskier teased back before taking a mouth full of what was effectively nothing but fruit skins. Still he was grateful and polished off the offering. 

“This is gonna be so fuckin’ fun!” Lambert cheered, fist pumping. And as nervous and anxious as Jaskier was, he had to agree.


	10. Breaking the Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier faces death or victory in a game of questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter in which Jaskier provokes Stregobor to get him to over the game of questions. If Jaskier loses, it's his life and all the witchers with him that will be lost. Featuring the truth about Geralt's origins.

A week or so later a message had been sent to Stregobor from a supposed wealthy lord who needed three feet of fertile soil, and offered five bushels of gold in payment. A note was returned demanding at least six bushels of gold, and a map to where to meet the mage and a talisman to open a portal to get there. 

Two mages who had dealings with Vesemir and the wolf witchers in the past volunteered to create the disguises. Vesemir became the old lord, looking frailer and paler, complete with age spots and a long drooping beard. Eskel, Lambert, and Griffin witcher named Coen were made into less physically intimidating body guards.

Other witchers had volunteered (and some even demanded) to go as well, but they didn’t want to spook Stregobor. Coen had been chosen since as a Griffin witcher he had all kinds of knowledge about court etiquette the wolves lacked. 

The disguises were impressive, using a combination of glamors and actual transformation herbs to change their bodies, eyes, voices, features, and so forth, as well as appropriate clothing changes. Yennefer and Triss, the two mages, took a little too much joy in dressing Jaskier in a jester’s costume and glamouring him uglier despite the fact he was already wearing a mask.

They climbed down the mountain on foot to put some space between Stregobor’s magic and the witcher’s keep. Well, the witchers climbed down the mountain. Jaskier was passed around like a backpack since apparently by Vesemir’s stories and his own corny jokes and songs, he’d made the witchers rather fond of him. 

And they didn’t trust Jaskier not to die climbing down. Which, considering how he’d been found by Vesemir on the mountain, was fair. 

Vesemir paused when they hit flat ground and began speaking quietly to Jaskier as he carried him in a bridal hold. “So Stregobor didn’t kill his son like the rumors said?” he asked. Jaskier touched the pearl reflexively and shook his head. “No, he killed his daughter and his son he experimented on with witcher mutagens. When he did like how powerful Geralt was and how different he looked, he called him a monster and banished him to the bottom of the ocean.”

Vesemir frowned, glancing at the other witchers who seemed to be giving them some space. “You fell in love with Geralt?” the old witcher asked softer than before. Jaskier was admittedly a little tired of repeating the story for the hundredth time, but it was Vesemir and he already loved the old witcher like a father. 

“I did, he saved me from a hook in my mouth, and again when his mean old sea horse Roach tried to drown me. The man sassed me for a year straight, and I couldn’t love him more. I made him a promise that I’d get him out of that glass prison and then I’d marry his fine ass as soon as possible. He seemed agreeable when last we spoke,” Jaskier blushed, toying with the pearl. 

Vesemir was giving him that sad, soft little smile, nodding to the pearl. “A powerful talisman you got there. That from Geralt?”

Jaskier paused to glance up at Vesemir’s face. His confusion was clear in his voice when he asked “What do you mean talisman? I thought it was just a pearl. To remember him by.” Vesemir smirked now, the old wolf looking proud for some reason.

“There’s powerful magic imbued into that pearl. Spells for protection, spells for your health, spells to give the wearer strength, and spells to bind the wearer and caster. He’s likely been able to sense your emotions and the general direction of your thoughts since you put it on.”

And just when Jaskier thought he was done with the blushing, at least until he got Geralt back in arms reach. “Awesome,” he grumbled in mock annoyance, prompting all the witchers to laugh and proving they all did, as the stories said, have super hearing. 

Vesemir set him down and took hold of the talisman, nodding to the other witchers. “Remember, follow Jaskiers lead, he knows Stregobor well. I’m Lord Helms, he’s the fool Julian, you don’t talk.” At everyone’s agreement, Vesemir snapped the talisman and a blue swirling portal opened up in the air in front of them. 

Lambert, Eskel, and Coen went first, pretending to struggle to carry the bushels of gold. Jaskier followed, spinning and dancing about, and Vesemir went last at the highest ranking person in their little murder parade. 

They stepped into the cavern, though it was transformed into a glass underground palace and less of a bare stone walled cave. Stregobor sat upon his throne, grinning, and a massive feast sat before them. Light shone down upon them from a massive crystal chandelier, and the goblets practically overflowed with rich red wine. 

“Welcome, welcome, my dear Lord Helms. I am pleased you could join us, and I see you brought my money,” cold eyes flicked over Jaskier and a cruel smile curled over his face. “And you brought entertainment. How droll! Go on then, jester, entertain your betters.”

Jaskier began to dance and spin about wildly as the others sat down to eat. He eyed the chandelier thoughtfully. He needed a reason to get Stregobor to engage in a game with him, a game with stakes. He gripped the pearl, prayed for the gods to show him favor, and began doing flips. He landed on the table, and began to do his jumps there, to the amusement of Stregobor. He juggled eggs and bread rolls, and then took a leap and lunged for the lowest chain on the chandelier. 

Recalling a childhood of exploring their old manor house and a similar stunt that landed him with a broken arm, crushed ribs, and a broken leg as a pre-teen, Jaskier hooked his legs up into the thicker rim of the circle of the chandelier, hanging upside down.

Everyone was still laughing, but they wouldn’t be for long. He used his thigh muscles and lower back to force the chandelier to swing in wider arcs. He noticed the witchers giving him nervous glances. No doubt with their heightened senses they could hear the groaning of the chain holding the chandelier to the ceiling. 

Excellent.

He began to sing - badly, warbling a raunchy tune and he swung himself around. Sure enough, the chain snapped and sent the chandelier and Jaskier tumbling to the feast table below. He landed among the gold filigree chains and shattered crystal on the wooden table top. Jaskier felt the shock run through him. His ribs were damaged for certain, his shoulder and left arm ached terribly, and he had shattered his ankle.

Stregobor was screaming in rage, fire erupting from his hands as he snarled curses and wicked spells in his fury. Lambert leaned forward, looking genuinely upset and worried, but Jaskier shook his head violently, glaring at the witcher until he leaned back in his seat.

The witchers did a good job of pretending to be scared of the mage and not bloodthirsty. Vesemir was shivering, and Jaskier chanced giving him a quick smirk to assure him all was going according to plan.

“You wretched fool! I will destroy you, wicked useless worm!” the mage snapped, Jaskier forced to levitate in front of the throne. He began to beg and simper, “No my lord, oh most powerful, intelligent, amazing Lord Stregobor the Wise! Please do not kill me!” he wept into his hands. Crocodile tears, another skill from his childhood. 

“Why shouldn’t I do the world a favor and rid it of you, idiot!” Stregobor seethed, forcing Jaskier’s limbs to stretch beyond his normal reach. Jaskier screamed in genuine pain, and Vesemir stood, still shivering. 

“Please, Master Mage,” he implored, “spare the life of this pitiable fool. Julian has been with me for many years. What if we offer a deal,” the witcher continued, easily following the script Jaskier had prepared.

“What kind of a deal?” Stregobor inquired, intrigued despite himself. There was that terrible sin of greed - he would always want more. More knowledge, more power, more food, more gold. Even now with the ‘offender’ in his grapes, he wanted more.

“A test, a game of questions or something for the fool. If he passes we go freed. If he fails, you may kill me and my guards and take all that I own,” Vesemir murmured, falling to his knees. Jaskier had the absent thought that Vesemir missed his calling in the theatre, before schooling his expression back into a fearful one.

“Hmm. Very well, I accept your bargain, Lord Helms. Fool, I will ask you three questions. If you answer them correctly, you leave with your life and that of your master’s. If you answer even one incorrectly, I take all your lives and all you own.”

Jaskier was dropped to the table once more, gasping for air when the landing jarred his clearly broken ribs. He stumbled down from the table, shaking, and bowed to Stregobor. ‘I am going to enjoy watching you die,’ he thought to himself, thumbing at the pearl. 

“First question,” crowed the mage, banging his fist on the armrest of his throne, “Where is my son Geralt?” Jaskier fought a smirk as he held his bow. “Geralt lives in a glass palace at the bottom of the ocean.” he replied calmly. He turned his gaze upwards to catch the horrified shock on Stregobor’s face.

The wicked mage’s mouth formed the word ‘what’ but gave no breath to speak it. He shook his head, as if to clear his mind. “Part two then, of the first question. Would you know him if you saw him?” the mage snarled.

Jaskier hesitated, just for a moment, praying he wouldn’t horribly disfigure Geralt or something else to try to fool him, before nodding. Stregobor clapped his hands, and a burning light filled the room. 

A hundred Geralts filled the room. None of them wore his green scaled bracers or shin guards, and none had a seahorse at their side. Instead, these Geralts all had their silver-white hair braided in a plain plait behind him and wore a black silk tunic and black breaches. A brown mare stood at each of their sides. 

“Well, jester. Point him out. Which is my son Geralt?” snickered Stregobor, flapping his hand dismissively. He could feel the panicked glances of the witchers as they burned holes in his back. This was unexpected to say the least.

Jaskier walked among the lines of Geralts and Roaches until he felt the pearl at his neck warm. He paused, and there was a gentle tug on his hand. Jaskier linked fingers with that hand and tugged Geralt out of the line up. At once, all the illusions of the pair disappeared and only the real Geralt with his hand in Jaskier’s, and the real Roach remained.

Stregobor slammed his fists down, and fissures appeared in the glass and rock walls around them from his vented rage. “Fine! You have answered the first question correctly. But you will not get the second one right. Where is my heart?” the mage demanded.

“In a fish,” Geralt whispered softly. “In a fish!” Jaskier repeated, louder. Stregobor snarled, the cracks growing bigger and more drastic. “Part two fo the second question! Would you know that fish if you saw it?” Geralt gave a soft almost imperceptible nod, and Jaskier repeated his agreement out loud. 

The cavern doors flew open and a flood of fish flew through the air. A horrifying black and red fish with fangs flew past, and Geralt pointed to it. Before Jaskier could speak, Vesemir spotted the fish and leapt up to grab it by the tail.

The flood of fish stopped. With a burst of magic, the glamors and transformation potions melted away from the witchers and Jaskier. Vesemir’s doing, Jaskier realized, sagging against Geralt as the throbbing in his ankle worsened. Wordlessly, Geralt swept him up into his arms, pressing a quick kiss to Jaskier’s forehead as he took in just how much physical damage Jaskier had sustained in his role as the clumsy fool. 

“Hello, Stregobor,” Vesemir growled. The other witchers snarled as they came to stand close to their leader, facing the mage as a pack. “I have long awaited this day, ever since you stole my children from me,” the older witcher continued, swiftly drawing out a concealed dagger and holding it up to the horrible looking fish. “My sweet Renfri, my precious Geralt. You think I did not know it was you who stole them from me!?” roared the wolf, making a single slice into the skin of the wriggling fish. “You, who were so fascinated that a witcher had managed to overcome the sterility that the mutagens were supposed to force upon us! You who begged me to let you try your experimental magics and potions on them! And when I refused, you stole my babies from me!” at his words the witchers at his back drew their own weapons. 

“My Magdalena died of a broken heart when she discovered the rumors you’d slaughtered both of them for power! The children you stole, claimed as your own, and tortured anyway!” Vesemir howled, making a second slash that cut deeper into the fish, black blood dripping down from the wound to sizzle against the stone floor. 

“You made a witcher of him anyway, then cast him aside. Stole the animals and crops from the land to make yourself feel powerful, even as you hid away from me, knowing I’d not rest till your corpse grew cold under my feet. And you can thank Jaskier for the fact I am here now to make my dream a reality, to fulfill my oath to Magdalena!” Vesemir smirked as Jaskier tugged his mask off to wave cheekily. 

Stregobor flailed, floundered, frightened and uncertain. Before he could speak a word, Vesemir thrust the dagger deep into the fish and pierced the mage’s hidden heart. Stregobor collapsed with a scream as the other witcher fell upon him. The ground shook, the glass shattered, and Geralt curled himself protectively around Jaskier as a myriad of burning spinning lights filled the cavern along with the screeches of the captive animals and the grunts of a body being hacked to bits.

Then, it was quiet.


End file.
